


Scottie

by amateurwriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, Parentlock, and a bad mother, mostly Mycroft's pov but not only, post-S3, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:09:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amateurwriter/pseuds/amateurwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She is absolutely beautiful, John." Mycroft's gaze does not leave Scottie's features as he says it.<br/>"Yes, she is. Thank you." John is delighted to hear the praise and he doesn't notice the sour expression that comes with it. Sherlock's eyes meet his brother's for less than a second and Mycroft isn't sure whether or not what he saw was a microscopic shake of his head.<br/>Scottie Charlotte Watson, in Mycroft's opinion, does not look like a Watson at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scottie

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of BBC Sherlock, I only borrow them as inspiration for my writing.

"Happy Easter, everyone." Mycroft Holmes says calmly as he enters the room and he receives warm smiles and greetings from the members of his family.

His parents are sitting together on the couch, the sweet bickering of two people in love for over a half of a century still warms even the supposedly-cold heart of The British Government. Next to them, there are Lara and Vincent - friends with no children of their own. They often spend holidays along with the Holmes family, treated as 'Aunt Lara and uncle Vincent' by Sherlock and Mycroft since before they both can even remember.

In the armchair, there's Mary - quiet and smiling, the unobtrusive assassin. About her presence, the older Holmes still wonders. To this day, he cannot comprehend how John could remain in a relationship with her, not when he so obviously loves Sherlock.

Oh, and Sherlock? Leaning heavily on the wall, in the corner of the room, gazing towards John longingly. There's nothing but love in his eyes, and Mycroft can barely stand the sight of his little brother so hurt. Continuously in pain, never getting what he wants, what he _deserves_. Many might think Mycroft is unfeeling and indifferent, but the truth is - he cares about his brother more than anything. He just wants Sherlock to finally be _happy_.

John Watson is standing by the window, rocking gently to the sides and whispering indistinctively into little Scottie's ear. He looks absolutely absorbed in her, like nothing beyond the little bundle of warmth exists for him. No one ever thought John would be the my-daughter-is-the-best-thing-that-ever-happened-to-this-planet kind of dad. And yet...The girl coos for a few seconds, yawns and closes her blue eyes, causing her father to look down at her with delight. He takes a moment to stare and take in the image of content on her little face and then heads to the room upstairs, to put her in the crib. As he turns around, his eyes land on Sherlock and a blindingly happy smile is sent across the room. An almost imperceptible nod of his head towards the door makes the detective push off of the wall and follow him out of the room. As they come near him, Mycroft sees the baby girl's face for the first time.

There was such commotion at the hospital when she was born and, honestly, childbirth is really not Mycroft's scenery. No reason to visit the Watsons either. While everyone tolerates his presence, Mycroft would not call his association to John a _friendship_. He sent his congratulations and an appropriately fluffy amount of stuffed bears of Anthea's choice to their apartment. And that was enough. But now he has the chance to look at the child, and what he sees is not as shocking as it should be.

"She is absolutely beautiful, John." The politician's gaze does not leave Scottie's features as he says it.

"Yes, she is. Thank you." John is delighted to hear the praise and he doesn't notice the sour expression that comes with it. Sherlock's eyes meet his brother's for less than a second and Mycroft isn't sure whether or not what he saw was a microscopic shake of his head.

Scottie Charlotte Watson, in Mycroft's opinion, does not look like a Watson at all. She is only three weeks old, but not one single line of her tiny body that the politician managed to scrutinize, resembles anything John-like. The only thing that seems to be entirely her father's input, is her name. The older Holmes takes a moment to wonder how on Earth John had managed to convince Mary to name their daughter so similarly to William _Sherlock Scott_ Holmes. But that lasts only a few short seconds, as he realizes she probably doesn't know his little brother's full name. So little people do, after all. A slightly vindictive smirk appears on his face at the thought of the doctor's passive-aggressive jab.

Throughout the meal, Mycroft watches them intently and can barely believe his eyes. After she woke up from her nap and demanded immediate attention, Scottie ended up in John's lap, her curious eyes travelling all around. She seemed to have both John _and_ Sherlock wrapped around her tiny finger. The doctor patiently presented every piece of cutlery to her, carefully keeping the sharp edges away and when she apparently got bored of the silverware, he fished the car keys out of his pocket and started quietly jingling them in front of her. Every second of those interactions with his daughter were intently observed by Sherlock and the detective kept dropping some facts about babies into the conversation, or just whispering them to John's ear if the rest of the company was on some other topic at the time. Two rattles and four stuffed animals made their way into Scottie's hands, were thoroughly drooled over and then put carelessly back in the bag hanging over the back of John's chair.

"Bathroom," murmured John at some point and, to Mycroft's utter astonishment, handed the baby to Sherlock. His little brother took the infant without batting an eye and when she pulled at his shiny curls the moment they were within her reach, he just laughed and placed a gentle kiss on her tiny shoulder.

Mary did not seem to have any interest in her daughter, she talked to everyone in the room - with a certain amount of fake, dismissive kindness towards Sherlock - and only paid attention to Scottie when John nudged her, and with a frown pointed out that she needs to be fed. And even at that, Mrs. Watson left the room with a somewhat pouty expression. Apparently her baby's need for breastfeeding was not the top priority.

A few hours later, when everybody is full of eggs, lamb and simnel cake, and little Scottie had managed to cause enough of both glee and exasperation, John announces they need to head home. Mary simply gets up and heads to the hall to get her coat, while John collects the toys that fell out of the bag, folds the pink blanket and picks up the small hat to put it back onto his daughter's head. In the meantime, Sherlock positions Scottie in the baby carrier that also serves as a car seat. When everything is ready, they both leave the room and put their coats on.

The general bustle of people leaving left Mycroft with a baby pacifier safely tucked into a plastic bag and put in his pocket. He's not sure if he'll use the genetic material that can be found there yet, because he's not sure what he witnessed during the Easter dinner.

Sherlock seemed... content. While his attention was focused mostly on the baby, Mycroft heard him talk about crimes, joke about dead bodies and laugh at John's comments. His usual snappy remarks were limited to a minimum and even Mummy's longtime despair over Sherlock eating habits was somewhat diminished, as he ate most his own portions and additionally stole about a half of the Cross Bun from John's plate, while continuously ensuring that he does not want his own.

Not for the first time in his life, The British Government was not sure what to do about Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.

***

A week after Easter, on a sunny but chilly day, Mycroft makes sure John is not at 221B Baker Street, and heads there to have a serious conversation with his brother. An inconspicuous envelope rests in the inside pocket of his jacket as he heads up the seventeen stairs.

"Good morning, brother dear."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asks, not moving up from the couch, only glaring hatefully at his guest. He's been waiting for this visit a whole week and is actually surprised it took Mycroft that long.

"I was wondering if we could talk about John." Mycroft's tone is friendly and his expression open, it instantly makes Sherlock feel alarmed and he's not sure if he knows what exactly his brother want to say. It was always hateful, not to be able to tell, to predict, to _win_.

"No."

" _Sherlock_ ," Mycroft breathes with displeasure. "I'm not here to burst your little bubble of domestic life with John Watson."

"It's not a bubble. I don't-" Sherlock stops, not sure what it actually is, the thing he has with John. "Please, leave. I don't want to talk about it." Mycroft's eyebrows travel way up on his forehead as he hears his brother plead. Sherlock _never_ pleads.

"Why haven't you said anything to John? You saw the baby. I know what you must have thought the second you looked at her." The older Holmes can't stop himself from asking. Sherlock's heart has always been a mystery for him, however hard he tries, he can never predict what the detective might want.

The truth is, Sherlock did think about it. It crossed his mind the first time he saw the not-Watson bone structure. It pushed itself onto his lips the first time he patted the soft, dark hair.

And it all ceased to matter the first time he saw that overpowering joy and pride in John's stance. The deep, uncontrolled laughter that sounded in the room as his friend noticed the baby's scrunched face, the full of mirth ' _did you hear that Sherlock? she keeps chattering in her sleep'_ were all Sherlock needed to stop focusing on DNA. Genetics or not, Scottie is John's daughter.

And even though, initially, Sherlock was rather resentful towards the little human being that was going to take up all John's time and take him away for good, he had the greatest of surprises waiting for him. While Mary is dutifully fulfilling all her motherly tasks, that's all it is to her - an obligation. She is perfectly happy with leaving the baby with John and Sherlock, and disappearing for the whole day. Sherlock never asks how things are between John and his wife, and he can often see the grateful look in the doctor's eyes.

It took merely a week for Sherlock to fall in love with Scottie. The happiness she gives John is impossible to miss and the detective is immensely grateful to see him smile again. Their relationship hasn't changed much, they still talk, laugh and solve cases online - even more occasions for Sherlock to impress John with his brilliance. Sometimes they spend their days at John and Mary's apartment and sometimes, they are at Baker Street. Some of Scottie's toys, clothes and baby products migrated to 221B, a crib materialized in the upstairs room and all the chemicals disappeared from the kitchen.

No matter what it is, the whatever-they-have, it _works_.

"Stay out of it, Mycroft. It's John's decision to make." Sherlock nervously jumps up from the couch and starts pacing the room.

"Sherlock, the DNA tests-" Mycroft tries to speak but is interrupted.

"Don't Mycroft! If John wants the tests made, he will have them."

" _I_ already have them," the older Holmes answers calmly and takes the envelope out of his pocket. "Care to take a look?" He hands the paper to Sherlock.

"Stop interfering. Get out!" Sherlock yells and - just as it was expected - tears the test results into pieces and throws them onto the floor. He goes to the door and opens it aggressively to show his obnoxious brother how much he wants him to leave, but freezes the moment his eyes look through the doorway.

John is standing there, looking at Sherlock with pain in his eyes.

"She's not mine," he states and suddenly his gaze goes empty. Numb emotionlessness overthrows him and he mindlessly enters the room, limping to his armchair and heavily falling down into it.

"John, no it's not what you-"

"Don't, Sherlock. Just. _Don't_." John's voice is full of bitterness and Mycroft could swear he can see the beginnings of tears in his brother's eyes as the detective turns around furiously and gives him a look of utter hate.

"Gentlemen, I believe there's been a misunderstanding here," Mycroft says and before he's interrupted, he reaches into his pocket for a second envelope - identical to the one Sherlock shredded two minutes earlier - takes out the sheet of paper that is folded inside, and shows it to Sherlock. "I know you think she looks nothing like him, Sherlock. I thought it too since the moment I first saw her, but we were both wrong, brother dear. Scottie is John Watson's daughter. One hundred per cent."

John's head whips up at that and he jumps out of the chair to reach for the paper. He stares at the test results, looks up at Sherlock and back to the paper. A relieved smile appears on his face and he goes back to the chair.

"Anyone wants to explain what just happened?" After the initial shock, John's patience is wearing thin rather quickly. "Did the both of you really think she's not my daughter?"

"Well-" Sherlock starts lamely but is promptly interrupted by his brother.

"I must admit she _really_ doesn't look like you, but apparently we were both deceived. The test was conducted twice, with the same result." The last part is directed at Sherlock, his still-surprised expression going away slowly. "My apologies about the earlier... misinterpretation. I'll be on my way now." Mycroft knows the detective and the doctor will want to discuss the matter privately. He did his part and, while bringing some unnecessary turmoil to their lives, he is content with the end result. He still ponders over the fact that Scottie's looks deluded two most observant people in England, but that's a matter for another day. The unusual phenomenon of Mycroft Holmes apologizing to anyone of his own volition goes unnoticed and he exits the room, leaving the two men alone.

"Why didn't you say anything?" John asks as soon as they hear the front door click shut.

"You love her so much." Sherlock states quietly, not looking at his friend.

"But if she wasn't mine, I'd want to know."

"What for? What _for_ , John? Would you leave her? Would you just stop loving her the second you found out? _Did_ you? For the short moment you thought she wasn't yours, did you stop loving her?" Sherlock doesn't wait for the answers, he keeps talking, louder and louder. "Is there a switch you can turn on and off as you please? How exactly does that work, John? Because that would be very helpful, to just unplug love and be done with it, don't you think? So handy!" A single tear carves a wet path on Sherlock's cheek and John stands in front of him, shocked.

Sherlock was holding all that in for too long. Pretending that everything is fantastic, the life they have now suiting him just fine. But the truth is, neither Scottie, nor John are _his_. He is just a friend of the family, someone to drop in now and then. Someone always going back to an empty apartment in the evening.

He's tired. Scottie's appearance in their lives showed Sherlock how much he's missing. Now he knows what it's like to have a family, to be a part of someone's life like that. But he also loses it every evening, the moment John leaves Baker Street to go back to his own apartment, or when Sherlock leaves John's place to return to his own cold bed.

"Sherlock, I didn't mean- Of course, I wouldn't have stopped loving her, I just. Hm." John looks at Sherlock carefully, seeing another heartbreaking tear gathering in the corner of his eye. "It's not about Scottie, is it?"

The only response John gets, is a look. Sherlock's face is stricken, he looks like he's lost all purpose in life and the doctor's heart clenches. He takes a step towards his friend and engulfs him in a hug. At first, Sherlock just stands there, not moving, but a few seconds pass and then John can feel the long arms circling around him, squeezing.

"This, John. It's about _this_." Sherlock's whisper tickles John's neck and then he feels a soft kiss, and there's nothing more that needs to be said. John holds Sherlock for a few moments and then pushes him away gently. He puts his hands on those sharp cheekbones and looks into Sherlock's eyes.

"I love you," a loud gasp is the only thing the detective can articulate, but that doesn't bother John. He continues talking, the words flowing so easily, as he thought about saying them for a long time now. "I love you and I want to be with you. If you'll have us, I'd love to come back here, to Baker Street with Scottie. We'll figure out how to deal with Mary, I honestly don't think she even wants me anymore, or ever did for that matter, and I'm almost sure she's planning something, she disappears for whole days and I have no idea where she goes. But I don't care, Sherlock, I really don't. I want you, you and Scottie and the life that we were supposed to have before everything fucked up. We can solve crimes and raise Scottie together and just finally _be_." He inhales the air that escaped his lungs and Sherlock takes the opportunity. He kisses John quickly - a short, shy peck on the lips. John closes his eyes and reciprocates, and then they're kissing, for real, with no inhibitions anymore.

"Anything, John. Whatever you want, please just come back to me." Their bodies are pressed together, they can feel each other's heartbeats and the closeness is heady. "You and your daughter, my _family_."

What they don't know, is that at that very moment Mary is leaving the apartment she shared with John. She took few of her belongings, placed a last kiss on her daughter's forehead and right now is closing the door to her old life. The British Government is watching her every move and Anthea is already on her way to the abandoned child, to pick her up and take back to her loving parents at Baker Street.

What they don't know, is that Scottie's eyes will darken to the exact same shade as John's quite soon. In the future, her body will be compact and strong, and that arrangement of five moles on the lower back, resembling a star, will appear just as on her father's. She will become strong-willed and fearless - a fighter and a healer. The most perfect daughter John and Sherlock could ever ask for.

What they don't know, is that their life as a family starts now.


End file.
